had set in,
and for several days great floods came down from the skies. One evening
shortly after dark, Kitty Kendrick stepped out upon the veranda, in an
aimless sort of way, to look at the clouds. The rain had ceased, but
the warm earth was reeking with moisture. The trees and the ground were
smoking with fog, and great banks of vapour were whirling across the
sky from the south-west. Kitty sighed. After a while George Denham
would go rattling by in his buggy from his law office in Rockyille to
his plantation, and it was too dark to catch a glimpse of him. At any
rate, she would do the best she could. She would put the curtains of
the sitting-room back, so the light could shine out, and perhaps George
would stop to warm his hands and say a word to her mother. Kitty turned
to go in when she heard her name called--

"Miss Kitty!"

"Well, what is it?" Kitty was startled a little in spite of herself.

"Please, ma'am, don't be skeer'd."

"Why should I be frightened? What do you want?"

"Miss Kitty, I des come by fer ter tell you dat Murder Creek done come
way out er its banks, en ef Mars. George Denham come by w'en he gwine
on home, I wish you please, ma'am, be so good ez ter tell 'im dat dey
ain't no fordin'-place fer ter be foun' dar dis night."

The voice was that of a negro, and there was something in the tone of
it that arrested Kitty Kendrick's attention.

"Who sent you?" she asked.

"Nobody ain't sont me; I des come by myse'f. I laid off fer ter tell
Mars. George, but I year talk he mighty headstrong, en I speck he des
laugh at me."

"Are you one of our hands?"

"No, 'm; I don't b'long on de Kendrick Place."

"Come out of the shadow there where I can see you."

"I mos' fear'd, Miss Kitty."

"What is your name?"

"Dey calls me Blue Dave, ma'am."

The tone of the voice was something more than humble. There was an
appeal in it for mercy. Kitty Kendrick recognised this; but in spite of
it she could scarcely resist an impulse to rush into the house, lock
the door, and take steps to rouse the whole plantation. By a great
effort she did resist it, and the negro went on:--

"Please, ma'am, don't be skeer'd er me, Miss Kitty. De Lord years me
w'en I say it, dey ain't a ha'r er yo' head dat I'd hurt, dat dey
ain't. I ain't bad like dey make out I is, Miss Kitty. Dey tells some
mighty big tales, but dey makes um up dey se'f. Manys en manys de time
is I seed you w'en you gwine atter sweet-gum en w'en you hu